She did not arise from her knees comforted--scarcely strengthened.

A kind of benumbing stupor followed.
"What ails the girl!" said Mrs.Loring to herself as she vainly strove at dinner-time to draw her forth into lively conversation.
"She gets into the strangest states--just like her poor mother! And like her I'm afraid, sometimes, will make herself and every one else around her miserable.

I pity Leon Dexter, if this be so.

He may find that his caged bird will not sing.

Already the notes are few and far between; and little of the old sweetness remains.".